


Foreign Faction

by horsegirl420



Series: Captive Prince AU (Auguste Lives) [2]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: (because any fic with the regent has both of those :( ), Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Damen's having a bad year, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Nikandros continues to be ride or die, POV Damen (Captive Prince), POV Laurent (Captive Prince), War, honhonhon, pardon my french, sexy swordfighting, this time with more drama, you ever start a fic and realize you ship something halfway through?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2020-08-23 10:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20241022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horsegirl420/pseuds/horsegirl420
Summary: Sometimes he was certain that that night in Vere had been imaginary-- a wine-and-chalis soaked fantasy of what might have been. At other times it felt like the last real thing that had happened to him before he entered this nightmare.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The edgy sequel that exactly two (2) people asked for.
> 
> Thanks @mesdames for the editing the heck out of this

Damen woke in a tangle of bedsheets and half-remembered blonde tresses. It was the same dream that had haunted him for months. Even as the vision faded, he could see it. The coy smile beneath masked blue eyes, a frantic escape through twisting hallways, a fervent kiss in a dark corner. That kiss led to many more, and then the frantic untangling of Veretian laces. Soft moans and softer skin, and neither of them worried about the shadows cast around them. But it was just a dream; in reality it had been nothing more than a distraction, a disguise, a necessity.

Sometimes he was certain that that night in Vere had been imaginary-- a wine-and-chalis soaked fantasy of what might have been. At other times it felt like the last real thing that had happened to him before he entered this nightmare. 

He swung his legs off the bed, resigned to the fact that he would not be able to return to sleep after that. He never could. Through the curtains, he could see the faintest grey light of dawn. Once, he may have banished his worries, and the dream, in the flesh of a lover, or a bed slave. But those pleasures had ceased to soothe or satisfy since the coup began. 

During the peace talks with Vere (another lifetime ago), he and Auguste had argued over many things: trade, immigration, borders, and military movements, affairs of state and business. Their arguments had been challenging, but respectful until they came to the Akielon practice of slavery. At the time, he had repeated what he had always been taught-- that for their slaves it was a choice, an honor, to give oneself over fully into the service of another. Now those arguments seemed as hollow as the dark shadows beneath his eyes. 

He had sent the slaves away during the bloodiest of the skirmishes, for their safety. But he wondered if perhaps the safest thing for them would be to end the practice altogether. He had seen the bodies, after all, in ransacked castles and discarded along escape routes. There had been no signs of any attempt at self-defense. Their will had been broken so thoroughly that even self-preservation could not move them against anyone’s orders. A life lived so stripped of will was no longer a choice. Perhaps it never was. 

It seemed like everything he had once held as true and right had soured since the Masquerade in Vere. Or perhaps Laurent, Prince of Vere, had just illuminated the world in a new way, like how a face becomes sinister when one holds a candle under it. In Damen’s opinion, the candle should have stayed unlit. 

A knock at the door interrupted his brooding. Two quick raps, the knock of a soldier on business. With the efficiency of practice, he donned enough clothing to make himself presentable. 

“Enter.” His voice did not betray the early hour. 

The soldier, Pallas, one of Nikandros’ handpicked men, entered and bowed low, eyes to the floor. 

“State your business,” Damen commanded. 

“A messenger in the throne room for you, Exalted. And…”

Damen’s mind came to focus, already considering his current allotment of troops, what maneuvers he could accomplish, which of his forces were where. “What else, soldier?” 

“An emissary from Vere.” 

Damen’s mind raced as he dressed in clothing more fitting of a king receiving a foreign emissary. Vere had been silent these last ten months, so what could they possibly want now that the fighting had finally stalled? 

Granted, Damen had not made an effort to reach out to Vere himself. He couldn’t have asked for their help though, even if he wanted to. Still, he could not deny that he had been stung by the silence of their allies to the North, given everything he had done for their King. Images from his dream returned to him unbidden as he walked the quiet pre-morning hallways. Gold hair, and silver tongue, and blue eyes, and pale neck swam before him as the doors to the throne room opened. 

Dream crashed into reality like one chariot colliding with another. Damen felt the splinters pierce his skin, sending prickles down his spine and across his bare arms. The golden head was unmistakable, though it was bowed in perfect obeisance. Something about the arch of his shoulders and the set of his jaw made the gesture seem just that-- a gesture, not a statement or acknowledgement of any authority King Damianos of Akielos might hold over him. Damen suddenly wished he had a good glass of wine with him. Or perhaps a bottle of griva. Something to dull the sharp edges of reality and let the dream return. 

He took his place on the throne. The hall was nearly empty, save for the guards, who always hovered nearby, and the two supplicants before him. 

“Rise,” he said to them both. He turned his attention first to the messenger, one of his own men. This was out of practicality, as messages were often urgent. This was also out of a need to let Laurent know where his priorities lay. “Your message.” 

The messenger glanced at the Prince with poorly-disguised annoyance. “A Veretian nobleman crossed the border and has been seen riding towards Ios with a small entourage under the banner of the Veretian Ambassador, Exalted.” 

Damen looked from the messenger to Laurent and back. The messenger’s annoyance now made sense. “Anything else?” 

“When a patrol asked him to state his business he claimed he was the new ambassador to Akielos and that he would not be waylaid or slowed by an escort. He and his entourage then fled our patrol and have evaded further capture, Exalted.” The messenger bowed low again. 

Damen raised an eyebrow. Laurent looked thoroughly unconcerned. “Thank you. Rest here and eat your fill before you return to your post.” 

“Thank you, Exalted.” 

Once the messenger was shown out, Damen turned his attention to Laurent. It had been almost a year since they last met, though it felt like much, much longer. Still, he was just as Damen remembered him. The same aristocratic face, the same long limbs tightly laced into severe Veretian fashion, The same blonde hair, though now enough of it to gather into a braid which draped over one shoulder. The same smug air that said he knew something no one else did and that he intended to keep it that way. He was beautiful but Damen now knew that he was also a harbinger of trouble, and Damen had enough of that already. 

So it was with great care that he chose how to address Laurent.  “Ambassador?”  It was both a question and an invitation to speak. 

Laurent retrieved a sealed letter from his breast pocket. “A fresh appointment, Exalted. My papers.” He smartly handed the envelope to the nearest guard, who delivered it to Damen. It was sealed with the crest of the Veretian King. He cracked the wax and read the dryly official statement which confirmed that, as of three weeks ago, Laurent was ambassador to Akielos. 

He folded the paper and returned it to Laurent. “Well, Ambassador, We are pleased to officially welcome you to our capitol. Though it is highly irregular for you to travel without an escort, and to arrive so early in the morning. How many men did you bring with you?” 

“Two, Exalted. It is my understanding that they wait under guard, pending your judgement on their actions.” 

At least it was only two. Any more and he would have to reprimand his men on the border for negligence. Damen did some calculations in his head: Three men riding out alone from Arles could make fairly good time, but still, to arrive here barely three weeks after his official appointment would require a brutal pace, with multiple changes of horse, and little sleep. The final stretch through Akielos would have afforded them no new horses at all. But if Laurent had traveled so quickly, so brutally, he did not show it. “And what business is so urgent that it couldn’t wait for a proper escort, or the protocols of our border?”

Laurent’s mouth twitched in almost a smile, as though pleased by Damen’s deductions. “We have received intelligence that a Veretian fugitive has fled to the Eastern mountains of Akielos and, as we speak, is conspiring with the insurgents that hide within your borders. On behalf of my King and Vere I have come to seek your permission to hunt this fugitive down.” 

Suspicion. Doubt. Damen did his best to keep his voice and face as unreadable as the one facing him. “And what interest of Ours is it that one of your criminals has eluded you? Why should We grant you, Our enemy of not so long ago, access to Our lands for a single fugitive?”

“Because, in exchange, we are prepared to offer you military support in stamping out this coup for good. And because this fugitive has a personal vendetta against you, Exalted. He is the one who gave your traitor brother Kastor the idea to revolt in the first place. He is a man clever enough to unthrone you if left unchecked. His name has been struck from our records, but you encountered him on your last visit to Vere, Exalted. The traitor I once called ‘Uncle’.” 

Damen felt sick. He needed time and space to think. He dismissed Laurent, with orders to the palace guard and servants to treat him and his men with the respect and courtesy befitting an ambassador. Once the room was clear, he stood and sent for his Commander. 

He strode to the war room, though he felt like he should be running. The past pressed against him, its breath hot as it whispered down his neck. He recalled his last return from Vere. Damen and Nikandros had been surprised to find a city preparing for war, but not as surprised as the city was to see them. Rather than the merry welcome they had expected, they were ushered directly from their caravan to the King’s chambers. There Damen was greeted by a strong and urgent embrace from his father. 

“My son,” the King said, “we heard that you were dead.” 

“Dead?”

“Murdered by the Veretians in an underhanded ambush, accused of conspiring against their King. We were told that war was upon us. But here you are in the flesh. How did you escape?”

Damen was flabbergasted. “Father, what you have heard is false. Who delivered this message?”

“Your brother heard the news while on patrol at the border and rode back here himself to deliver it.” 

He should have known it then. He should have listened to the suspicions that had been needling him since he found Kastor’s ring in Arles. Instead, he simply reported the facts of his mission in Vere. It had gone well. He had saved the King’s life, in fact, and their relationship with Vere would be better than ever for it. He did leave out a few minor details, like the fact that he had been drugged and nearly seduced into exactly what Kastor had reported. And the fact that he had, in his euphoria at surviving the night, asked Auguste for permission to court his younger brother. Those were discussions for a different time. 

Nikandros added, “There was an Akielon involved in the murder plot. Their intention was to frame Prince Damianos. If I may be so bold, Exalted, perhaps there are enemies closer to home that we should be worried about?“

He expressed this with a significant look at Damen, which Damen knew to mean Kastor. Nikandros had always been suspicious of Kastor, even without knowing everything that Damen knew. But Damen was still reluctant to think that Kastor would ever go so far, would hate him so much, as to conspire with Veretians to frame him for regicide. So he said nothing. 

“Where did our scouts last see Kastor?” Damen asked as he entered the war room. 

Nikandros had clearly just arrived. Most likely the King’s summons had woken him. “Heading northeast along the border of Sicyon, but that was three months ago.” 

“And no one has seen him since? What of his forces?” 

Nikandros was perhaps a little too tired to fully hide the note of annoyance in his voice. “No one has seen them. On occasion there is a raiding party, but they cover their tracks well. We can’t seem to detect a pattern.” 

“What of the Eastern Steppes?” 

Nikandros’s expression shadowed just a bit, the weariness that they both felt becoming plain. 

“Speak freely, Nikandros. You know I count on you for your frankness.” 

“The Eastern Steppes are one of a number of places we believe they may be hiding, but neither Patras nor Vask will not involve themselves in this conflict, which makes scouting near the border touchy at best. You know all this already; may I ask why you have taken such a sudden interest?” 

Damen sank into his seat at the head of the table. Nikandros took the one at his right hand, and listened as Damen recounted the morning’s events. 

After a long silence, Nikandros said, “You’re considering it?” 

Damen made a noncommittal noise. 

“But you know how it would look.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you know how the generals would feel. Especially those on the border.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you know what your detractors--” 

“Yes, yes, I know the rumors it fuels and the lies it confirms. I know I should send the Prince right back to his brother with a polite refusal and settle this dispute with Kastor myself. The way we have always settled things.” 

Nikandros met his gaze across the table. He had been a sturdy foundation for Damen since his father’s death, since the coup began. They had both worked tirelessly to bring the country to the semblance of peace it currently held. Nikandros probably knew him better than anyone else in the world. “But you’re still considering it.”

“I am. We could use the numbers, you know that as well as I.”

“This isn’t just about numbers.”

Damen sighed. “Three months is too long to have seen and heard nothing. Kastor is many things, but subtle isn’t one of them. If he has someone else guiding his hand-“

“A Veretian?”

“Yes. If he has a Veretian guiding his hand, then this silence means he’s planning something. I don’t want to give those plans time to fruit.”

“You’ll lose Meniados. Straton too if we don’t control the announcement.”

“I know.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I need more time.” 

Nikandros breathed a weary laugh. “Three weeks from Arles to Ios is not an idle man’s journey. Time doesn’t seem to be something we have much of.”

  
  
  


Laurent, for his part, was doing his best to be patient. But it became increasingly clear that the King of Akielos was not going to see him again. He idled in the corridors until guards ushered him back to his room. When he asked if one of the guards would be so kind as to relay his request for another audience with the King, they told him that the King would call for him when he was ready. The guards did not leave his door after that. 

The final straw was when his dinner was delivered to him, rather than an invitation to dine with the rest of the household as he had hoped for. So he decided to take matters into his own hands.

He waited in the King’s chambers, casually draped over a chair. It was nearly midnight, by his estimation, when the door finally opened. 

“Good evening, Exalted,” Laurent said as Damianos entered. In a flash, Damianos had a sword in hand. Laurent was impressed by his reflexes. 

“Who let you in here?” Damen said. 

“I did. You’ve been avoiding me since I arrived this morning.”

“How-“

“You’ve sent all the slaves away, but their passages remain intact. It really wasn’t difficult.” No respectable Akielon would ever think to use slave’s means to travel the castle. Luckily Laurent was not Akielon, nor (depending on who you asked) was he respectable.

“The door was locked.” The tone in Damen’s voice was one Laurent had come to expect in people who did not know him very well— exasperation. 

With only a small flourish, he withdrew a silver case the size of a playing card from his sleeve. The lockpicking kit he often used to break into places he shouldn’t be. “Surely you remember this?” 

He watched Damianos’ reaction, the struggle to find just the right way to respond to Laurent’s flagrant disregard for protocol. It was almost reminiscent of the night they met but as Laurent had expected, Damianos was different now. He had sensed it in the throne room but here, in closer quarters, he could see it more plainly. The sleepless nights, the new creases on his face, the weight that had been lost and with it the boyish exuberance of the Prince he had met in Arles. Damianos was a King now, and Laurent needed to keep that in mind. He knew all too well how kingship, especially that which came after the early death of a father, changed a man. 

“I could have you executed for this,” Damianos finally said. As he said it, he returned the sword to the sheath at his hip. 

“You won’t.”

Damianos sighed and sat down across the table from him. “What do you want?” 

A loaded question to be certain. Laurent maintained his manicured façade of indifference, draped over the chair as he was. “I want your answer.” 

“There’s much for me to consider. I can’t just open our borders for one man.” 

“It’s not for one man-- it’s for thousands of men, ready to fight for you until the fighting is ended for good.” 

Laurent had thought he’d seen the breadth of how tired Damianos was in his posture and his face, but he realized as Damianos’s eyes met his that he was wrong. Those eyes were dark, hollowed by grief, and now they were focused on him entirely. Laurent was not an easy man to disturb, but he felt the weight of Damen’s regard in his marrow. He sat up a little straighter. 

At last the King spoke. “I don’t mean your uncle.” Each word was carefully selected, like a physician plucking torn stitches from a healing wound. “When we returned from Vere, my brother had already brought news that I had been captured and murdered. I suppose that was how this plot was supposed to end. He would take the title of Crown Prince, your uncle would be Regent until your nephew came of age. And the war would be a convenient way to get rid of you.” 

Laurent nodded. “They may have meant to frame me as a conspirator of yours, but failing that, yes I believe you’ve got it right.” 

A bitter smile curled Damianos’s lips. “The confusion was enough that Kastor began to cast seeds of doubt among the Kyroi. Surely you’ve heard reports of what happened after that?” 

Laurent had heard. “King Theomedes was poisoned.” Damen winced a little. “And Kastor attempted to seize the throne by force. Which, obviously, he failed to do.” 

“It wasn’t just poison,” Damen said. “It was  _ solanacée _ .” 

“A Veretian poison?” 

“And I had just returned from Vere. That was all the fuel he needed. He’d been gathering supporters for months. Years maybe.” 

“But you had proof that Kastor was the one conspiring with Veretians. How did he manage to turn that against you? Why was he not questioned immediately upon your return?” 

Damen looked away. His hand was a clenched fist on the table between them. 

It wasn’t often that Laurent’s curiosity impeded his better judgement, but this was one such occasion. “It’s the thing that I haven’t been able to figure out, in all of this. If you had proof--”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” 

Laurent’s mind skidded to a halt. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” Damen said with a quietness that betrayed how deeply this troubled him, “that I never told anyone about Kastor’s ring in your uncle’s room. Not my father, not the Kyroi, not even Nikandros.” 

“Why not?” The concept of concealing such an obvious conspiracy had never occurred to Laurent. 

“I didn’t… just… he’s my brother. I didn’t think he would go so far as to murder our father. To try and murder me.” His voice was unsteady. Laurent reached a hand forward, to touch the dark fist on the table. 

Damianos stood suddenly, the King in him returned, though perhaps with a sharper edge. “You understand now why I cannot accept aid from Vere, no matter how badly we may need them. Your very arrival casts doubt on my legitimacy. I cannot be seen collaborating with Vere. You must leave in the morning. You will be provided supplies and an escort to the border. Tell King Auguste that we thank him for the offer, but the affairs of Akielos are to be left to Akielos. If we find any Veretians among Kastor’s men, we will send word, and we will be happy to extradite any that survive. No one will know that you were here tonight.” 

Laurent knew a losing battle when he saw one. He stood, bowed, and started toward the slave’s entrance. There he paused, turning back toward Damianos, who had sat again to write these new orders. He knew it was dangerous to push his luck any further, and yet...

“That night, when it was all over, my brother offered you anything you could ask for.” Damen’s quill hovered above the inkwell, frozen. “You asked his permission to court me, but you never asked how I felt about it.” 

There was a very long silence before Damen put the quill down again. “And what would you have said?” He sounded so very, very tired. 

Laurent knew what he would have said. He had thought about it with every new report about the Akielon Civil War. He had thought about it when he asked Auguste to appoint him to the Ambassadorship. He had thought about it every hour of the endless ride from Arles. 

“I don’t suppose it matters now,” he said. His voice was quieter, more intimate than he intended. “You were right. Ios is beautiful. I would have liked the chance to see it properly.” 

He left. He would not sleep that night either it seemed. If Damianos would not see sense, he would need to find a way to defeat Kastor, the insurrection, and his uncle with just two men and three very tired horses. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to mesdames for the assistance and the French knowledge! This chapter would not be half as readable without them.

They were up at dawn the next morning. King Damianos was gracious enough to come down himself and see them off, along with their escort. Laurent counted no less than a dozen men. It seemed they had learned their lesson from the border patrols and did not intend to let him run off again. Maybe there was some way he could convince the escort to join him in saving Akielos. It couldn’t be harder than convincing Damianos, he decided. Laurent’s vulnerability the night before might have been enough to convince him when they met, but Damianos was no longer the seduceable prince he had been when they met. 

In the most guileless voice he could muster, he pleaded, “I wish you would reconsider, Exalted.” 

Damianos, ever the brick wall, remained unmoved. “You asked for Our answer and you have it.” 

“I had only hoped to impress on you the urgency of the situation. My traitor uncle is not a man to underestimate, he has been free for too long already. There is no time to waste. 

“Then stop wasting it,” Damianos snapped. “We do not require Vere’s interference in this matter.” 

Laurent’s retort was halted by a shout from the castle gates. 

“Exalted!” Another damn messenger. There was no end to those fleet-footed distractions in Ios.

“What news?” Damianos called back as the man approached.

“Scouts from the border. Delpha has been invaded and Marlas is fallen.” 

Damianos either didn’t see or ignored Laurent’s attempts to catch his eye as he replied, “Kastor?” 

“No, Exalted,” said the messenger. “They fly the Veretian flag.” 

Instantly the entire courtyard turned their eyes to Laurent. Eloquence and Akielon abandoned him, “_ Putain de merde. _”* 

He was suddenly very aware of the crest pinned to his jacket, the beacon of his fair complexion amongst the swarthy Akielons. “It’s already happening.” This time he spoke in Akielon, his tone somewhat accusatory. 

Damianos turned back to the messenger. “Who sent this message?”

The messenger produced a sealed letter for the King. “General Makedon.” 

Damianos took it. “What of Straton? He held the seat at Marlas.” 

“My apologies, Exalted, I do not know.” 

Damianos nodded sternly and turned toward the assembled guards and servants. “Summon Commander Nikandros. And bring the Ambassador to the war room.” He finally met Laurent’s gaze. “He has some explaining to do.” 

Laurent hardly felt the men who dragged him from his horse, or their grip on his arms as they escorted him through the marble halls. He knew this was his uncle’s doing, but he didn’t know how or why.... Possibilities raced through his mind, each more nefarious than the last, all of them ending in a painful death for himself and Damianos. 

Nikandros had already arrived by the time Laurent and Damianos reached the war room. 

“What is he doing here?” Nikandros glared at Laurent.

“He,” Damen said as he took his place at the head of the table, “is here to explain what the hell is happening before I have him thrown in the dungeon.” He signaled for the guards to release Laurent. They did and stepped back to flank the doorway. 

Laurent stared at him for half a second. How the hell was he supposed to know? “I assure you, I know as much as you do. My King, my brother, has no quarrel with Akielos. There is no reason for him to attack, especially since he knows I am currently in Ios. Can your information be trusted?” 

Damianos presented the letter to them both. “Makedon’s seal, handwriting, and cipher.” 

Nikandros considered the document. “Makedon is the most loyal general I know. He wouldn’t send such a report if he had not seen it with his own eyes.” He shot another glare at Laurent. “And it would seem to me that it would benefit Vere to sow seeds of doubt just as their attacks began. Perhaps that was the purpose of this visit to begin with. To focus our forces East and move the Veretian armies into place with a mask of legitimacy.” 

Laurent took a step forward and placed one hand on the table. Even standing, he felt small compared to the two men before him. “Then why would there be an attack before either of those ends were achieved? If what you propose were true-- and it is not-- wouldn’t it be foolish to attack so prematurely? Why would he send me at all, when we could just as easily wait for this civil war to bleed Akielos dry?”

Damianos was quiet, perhaps contemplative. When he finally spoke, it was to Laurent. “What is your explanation for these events then?”

Laurent straightened up, trying to contain his irritation. Had he not already given his explanation? Was Damianos really too dense to see the answer right in front of him? “If Marlas flies Veretian colors, then I see three possibilities. One,” he held up a demonstrative finger, “my brother has gone instantaneously mad and forgotten our years of friendship with Akielos, as well as his very life, which he owes to you, Exalted.,” A second finger, “Your Straton has gone mad and decided to raise some old Veretian flags he found in the cellars.”

Nikandros made as if to interrupt but Damen stayed him with a gesture. Then Damen nodded to Laurent. “Get to the point.” 

“Or...” said Laurent, with deliberate emphasis, “someone else is trying to sow discord. Perhaps someone who would greatly benefit from conflict between Vere and Akielos.” 

“Kastor and your uncle, you mean.” Damen said, though he sounded unconvinced. 

“Yes!” Was it really so hard to believe? What had he done to make them distrust him so deeply? 

“Exalted,” Nikandros cut in, “we have no proof that the Veretian traitor is even in Akielos, let alone working with your brother.” 

“I’ve brought you our reports,” Laurent countered. “They conspired on the Masquerade Plot, is it so hard to believe they would do so again?” 

Damianos leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Whoever it is, they have seized Marlas. We must decide how to respond.” 

“Take it back,” said Nikandros.

“Don’t respond.” Laurent said at the same time. Both Akielons looked at him incredulously. He returned the look defiantly. “You can’t go to Marlas. It’s obviously a trap.”

Damianos shook his head. “We can’t do nothing. Even if -- _if _\-- “ he emphasized at a look from Nikandros, “the attack is a ruse, we cannot let it stand. As far as the kyroi are concerned, Kastor is licking his wounds in the mountains and Vere is taking advantage of our wounded morale. To ignore this attack would look cowardly at best.” 

“And he knows that,” Laurent insisted. “That’s the_ point _. He wants you to go to Marlas. It’s. A. Trap.” 

“If it’s a trap,” said Nikandros, “then Kastor will be there waiting for us. If we approach with caution, we can find him and defeat him for good.” 

Laurent pounded a fist on the table. “You’re thinking too simply! You cannot plunge your sword into a snake’s den until you know where the head is.” He felt some small satisfaction at the look of surprise on Damianos’s face at his outburst. 

Nikandros pounded a larger, louder fist on the table. “I only see one snake here.” 

“Enough!” Damianos rose, silencing both of them. “Commander, send word to Makedon that we will meet his forces in Delpha to retake Marlas.” 

“Yes, Exalted.” His tone was smug and he shot a satisfied, victorious glance at Laurent.

“Ambassador?” 

Laurent stepped back from the table to recover his composure. “Yes, Exalted?” he said as cooly as he could manage. 

“You understand that, with the way things currently stand, I cannot send you back to Vere.”

“Of course, but I won’t wait here in Ios while you ride off to get yourself killed, either.” 

In the end, it was a compromise. Laurent rode with Damen in the vanguard while his Veretian escort, Jord and Orlant, fell in with the rest of the small force the King was leading to Delpha. Laurent used the time to observe Damianos more closely. Damianos in his Akielon armor, with bared arms and legs. King Damianos, Laurent had to remind himself, who he had come here to help, not to ogle. Ogling was easier than helping though, since Damianos seemed dead set on ignoring Laurent’s advice. 

The first time they had met, Prince Damianos had been too intoxicated to think, and honestly he hadn’t seemed like someone who thought much in general. Now King Damianos couldn’t seem to stop overthinking: Laurent, the army, his brother, himself-- he doubted everything except Nikandros. Unfortunately Nikandros had not liked Laurent for even a second since they met. 

On the first day out, Laurent drew his horse alongside Nikandros’. “Commander,” he tried to sound humble, “I fear I may have offended you. If that is the case, I offer my sincerest apologies.” 

“You haven’t offended me,” Nikandros said, his voice cool and aloof. “I just don’t trust you.” He urged his horse ahead, putting distance between them again. 

When they stopped to make camp, the Veritians were guarded through the night. Laurent thought this was all a bit silly. Still, it was better than the alternative, sitting locked away in a dungeon while Kastor and his uncle took Akielos, leaving him at his uncle’s mercy. He would rather die on a fool’s errand than face that man’s “mercy” again. 

Four days into their journey, they reached a city on the border of Kesus large enough to house the company in empty training barracks. Damianos, Nikandros, their captains and Laurent roomed that evening in a cozy inn overlooking the Ellosean sea. Laurent would have found it beautiful if he had not been so anxious about the folly of Damianos’s actions. 

Ten days into their journey Jord and Orlant sparred while Laurent watched. Normally Laurent might join them but he had not sparred since they entered Ios. He had decided it would be better if the Akielons did not know how well he could fight, even if it meant a lapse in his practice. Being underestimated was much more useful, in his experience, than the opposite. 

Generally the Akielons who had been assigned to guard them seemed disinterested in their sparring, or in interacting with the Veretians at all. However today the three men set to guard them were actually watching Jord and Orlant’s match. There was an air of scrutiny and analysis to the way they watched that made Laurent nervous. 

When Jord disarmed Orlant with a tricky maneuver, one of the Akielons whooped. Jord helped his friend to his feet, and Laurent stood as well, tense and prepared for trouble. 

“Impressive,” one of the men said. He was young and confident, Laurent pegged him as either nobility, or an exceptional athlete. Maybe both. 

“Thank you,” said Jord, in heavily accented Akielon. “I can help you?” All of them had been trained in Akielon, of course, but Jord and Orlant were still new to the language. 

“I am Pallas,” the man said. “These are Naos and Lydos. Since we will be fighting Veretians I thought it might be instructive to practice against some. Will you spar with us?” 

Jord and Orlant both looked to Laurent for guidance. Laurent could feel the precariousness of the proposal. He gave the smallest of nods. 

Jord turned back to Pallas. “Yes. That seems fun.” 

“Though,” said Laurent now that Jord would not lose face for refusing, “it seems a little unfair that my men should fight with sticks against your swords.” 

Pallas grinned and unbuckled his swordbelt. “I agree.” 

Between the three guards, Lydos was tasked with keeping watch on the weapons while Pallas and Naos located sticks that would serve as good replacements. Laurent returned to his seat on the ground to observe. 

The four opponents were all skilled swordsmen, as they proved in their first few exchanges. It began experimentally, testing each other’s style, gauging strengths and weaknesses. Then the blows came in earnest. 

In the end there were minor bruises and no sign of catastrophe. They agreed to call it quits when Pallas broke both his stick and Jord’s in a particularly heated exchange, much to the dismay of the Akielons that had gathered to watch the scene unfold. 

Pallas tossed the broken end of his stick away and held out a hand to Jord. “A good fight.”

“A good fight,” Jord repeated, shaking Pallas’ hand. After that, Jord and Orlant seemed welcome around the Akielon campfires.

Laurent could admit to himself that he was jealous. Just like he had always been a bit jealous of his brother, in the way that admiration and jealousy were two sides of the same coin. It was easy for people like them -- strong and athletic and personable -- to fit in with other men. He had always been more interested in intellectual pursuits, for all the good that did him now. 

Fifteen days into their journey, they crossed the border into Delpha. So far, at every town or village they passed, they had been greeted by citizens, probably drawn out by the approaching company. Most of the citizens were curious, and when they realized their King rode at its head, they became frenzied. The company was showered with flowers, praises, well-wishes and prostrations. Occasionally someone would be bold enough to rush forward, never to the King but to one of his attendants or soldiers, and offer bread or fruits. They reminded Laurent of his own people when Auguste would ride out. He took it as a heartening sign that, despite Kastor’s rebellion, the common folk still adored their King. 

He was curious to see if Delpha would have the same reaction. It was only seven years since Delpha (Delfeur, really) had become part of Akielos. That was the last time Laurent had been to Marlas, and the last time he had seen his father alive. So he wondered if the citizens of Delpha would have the same reaction to their Akielon sovereign. 

Sixteen days into their journey, they approached a small village, the first they had seen since crossing the Delphan border. It lay completely silent. No one emerged to see who was marching through. There were no signs of movement at all. Not even livestock, or an overzealous guard dog. The silence made the back of Laurent’s neck prickle. 

He urged his horse forward, catching Damianos’s attention. Nikandros too had ridden up to conference with the King. Damianos nodded to both of them and called a halt. 

“It’s too quiet,” he announced to the company. “Nikandros will lead a search. Take caution, we don’t know what could be waiting in those houses.” 

Laurent’s stomach churned. He knew the horrors war could bring. Still, an entire village…

“I hope it’s a trap,” he said to Damianos, the irony in his tone feeling hollow. 

Damianos caught his look and his expression grew grimmer. “So do I.” 

At last Nikandros returned, looking troubled. “It’s empty,” he said. 

“What do you mean empty?” Damianos asked. 

“I mean the people are gone. No blood, no sign of a struggle, no fresh graves, just… deserted. It seems like the entire village just packed up and left.” 

Laurent craned his neck, as if he could see for himself from here exactly what Nikandros meant. “But why?” 

Damianos’s brow furrowed in thought. “Is it possible they heard about the invasion and decided to seek refuge in case of war?” 

“It’s possible.” Nikandros sounded uncertain, but there was finality to his tone that said he didn’t feel the need to speculate. 

“I can’t imagine the entire village would all choose to leave at the same time,” said Laurent. “There must have been what, fifty to seventy of them here?” 

Damianos shook his head. “For now it’s enough to know that the road is safe enough for us to continue forward. I want scouts ahead of us, and behind us, and off the road as well. They should be looking for civilian movement as well as military.” 

“This is wrong.” Laurent could feel it deep in his gut. “There’s something else happening here.” 

The look Damianos gave him was one that Laurent knew all too well-- the same sort of look Auguste used to give him. The sort of look that said he had cried wolf too many times. “Don’t tell me your uncle has the power to make an entire village disappear.” 

“We found no signs of slaughter or raiding,” said Nikandros. “What more would you have us look for?” 

Laurent didn’t know what to look for. He just knew he would know it when he saw it. He looked at Damianos, pleading for him to believe that his suspicions were founded in truth and experience. “Exalted, I request permission to investigate the village personally.”

“Out of the question,” Damianos said. “We have much ground left to cover today, I can’t allow for more delays.” 

Couldn’t he see that they were missing something? “With respect, Exalted-” 

“No. We keep moving.” Damianos remounted his horse, and the line of soldiers behind him followed suit. 

Laurent mounted his own steed, fuming with frustration. The village reeked of his uncle. As they continued the rest of that day’s ride, he couldn’t get the thought out of his head. He needed to get a closer look at the village, prove that his uncle had a hand in its abandonment and figure out why. 

They did not encounter any other settlements that day, but the unease remained. Even though they refused to investigate it, Damianos and Nikandros could not deny the ominous nature of the village. 

That night, after camp had been made and the drills were finished, Laurent retired early. Jord and Orlant used their newfound goodwill to chat with their guards. Laurent encouraged them to do so, so they could practice their Akielon. After dinner was served and everyone had a few drinks, the atmosphere around camp relaxed. No one noticed a hooded figure as it crept out of the firelight. 

An easy ride by day was a long and treacherous walk by night. Laurent dared not light his lantern, not with the patrols out, nor did he stick to the road. He navigated by moonlight, keeping to the shadows when he could, and moving purposefully but not hurriedly when he could not. Running would only draw suspicion if anyone happened to see him. 

It took a good two hours before he was able to reach the village again. Somehow the emptiness was even more eerie at night. He stole inside the nearest building, a barn by the looks of it. Finally, he allowed himself the smallest amount of light. The night was so quiet he was confident that he would hear a patrol approaching before they would see him. 

He did not know what he was looking for, only that he needed to look for something. He scoured every inch of the town, his senses on full alert. Like Nikandros had reported, there were no signs of a struggle or bloodshed. There were some things that he found odd, though. The crops that had been left in fields and gardens. The front doors left unlocked, despite the belongings still inside. The belongings themselves were disturbing too. Clothing, toys, cookware, things that would be helpful if not necessary to bring along. He supposed that many of these items could conceivably have been left behind in a rush, but why was there a rush? What danger had seemed so pressing that the townspeople could not bring a well-loved doll, or the loaf of bread going stale on the counter? 

He stood outside the last house, filled with more questions than he had started with and no answers. He was pushing his window to return before someone noticed he was missing and his lantern was nearly spent. Was there nothing else here?

In the dying light, a glitter in the dirt road caught his eye. It was so small, half-buried, that it was no surprise the scouting party had not taken notice of it. He knelt down and brushed the dirt aside. It was a coin. Not an Akielon coin, though, nor a Veretian one. He turned it over again, examining the silver surface. 

He heard hoofbeats.

Damen was roused by a nervous attendant, who bowed nearly to the ground when Damen’s eyes opened. Damen forced his body to sit up, despite the heaviness of sleep still on him. It was nearly dawn, but not near enough that he could see much beyond the light of the lamp the attendant had brought. 

“What is it?” He asked. 

“Scouts, Exalted. Commander Nikandros sent me for you.” 

Damen suppressed a groan as he rose to his feet. More trouble. He wondered if his father had been pulled from sleep this often when he was King. Perhaps the lack of rest would explain why he had seemed so gruff and exacting at times. as he followed the attendant’s lamp across the dark and quiet camp, Damen found himself wishing that he could have asked his father about it himself. 

Auguste had once written to Damen that he felt he never truly knew his father until he took on his responsibilities. “Perhaps the great tragedy of Princes and Kings is that we all must learn not from our fathers, but from their legacies,” he had said. It had all sounded very Veretian to Damen when he read it, so emotional and purposefully grandiose. But then, at the time Damen had thought that his father would live much longer than Auguste’s had. He had thought that time would be measured in years and decades. Now time seemed to be measured in weeks and days, in anxious hours and sleepless minutes.

What he wouldn’t give for a moment more of rest. 

Inside the tent, Damen was greeted by a mass of lamplit shadows. Nikandros stood closest to the tent’s entrance, and Damen could tell just by his posture that he was angry. Further inside the tent stood three scouts around a fourth figure who was hooded, kneeling and bound. 

The figure looked up as Damen entered, and Damen felt a moment of surprise as Laurent’s face emerged from the shadows of the hood. The surprise was immediately followed by an extreme annoyance that he should be surprised at all. Of course it was Laurent. 

“What is going on?” Damen asked, even though it was extremely clear what was going on. 

“Our scouts found the _ Ambassador _,” Nikandros said the title with pointed irony, “lurking around that abandoned village.” 

“Was he alone?”

“Yes, Exalted,” one of the scouts answered. “We scoured the area but we saw no one else.” 

“What of the guards who were supposed to watch him?” 

“They didn’t realize he had left,” said Nikandros. “They will be disciplined accordingly.” Damen almost felt pity for the men who had been on duty, given Laurent’s seemingly preternatural ability to avoid detection when he wanted to. Almost. 

“What were you doing in there alone at night?” Damen asked Laurent. 

“I wanted to investigate, as I expressed to you earlier.”

“Which was a request I expressly denied.” 

Laurent’s mouth twitched in something like bashfulness. “My apologies, Exalted. I have a criminally overactive curiosity, and I could not be satisfied until I had investigated for myself. And while I have cooperated with your guards and your orders, I believe that I was correct in this instance.” 

Damen felt a headache forming behind his eyes. “Why do you believe that?”

“If your guards would untie me, I would be happy to show you.” 

Resigned to the theatrics of this moment, Damen nodded and one of the scouts undid the ropes that bound Laurent’s wrists. 

Laurent got to his feet, his movements somewhat reserved, even ginger. Was he injured? Damen glanced at the scouts, wondering just how rough they had been with him and how necessary the bindings had been. Troublesome as he was, Laurent was still a foreign dignitary. 

Laurent reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a silver coin. “I found it in the dirt outside one of the houses. It’s Vaskian.” 

Damen took the coin from him and looked it over. It was indeed Vaskian currency. 

Nikandros made a noise somewhere between derision and laughter. “So?” 

“So?!” Laurent repeated indignantly. “Vask is miles East of here. Why would there be a Vaskian coin so far away from anywhere it might be used?” 

Vask and Patras both bordered Akielos by way of the Eastern Steppes, where Kastor had last been seen. Kastor needed to raise an army if he wanted to take the throne, and mutinous Akielons would not be enough. But Vaskian mercenaries might be able to turn the tide in his favor. The kind of mercenaries that roamed the border, pillaging when they could not find work. The kind of mercenaries that Kastor had been tracking and hunting for years. 

“You think Kastor has something to do with this,” Damen said. How long had Kastor been planning to use mercenaries? Had he been using his time heroically pushing back raiders to secretly form alliances with them? Damen’s temples throbbed. 

“Kastor and my uncle,” Laurent said. 

Nikandros broke in. “Exalted, he had no evidence of anything when he left, against his word and your orders. We do not know his true intentions. If our scouts had not found him-”

“I am not your enemy!” Laurent interrupted. “I’m trying to help you.” 

“Stop it! Both of you.” Damen couldn’t take any more bickering. “We’ll be able to see Marlas for ourselves tomorrow, and one way or another all of this will be solved the day after that. We should all take what rest we can before morning. You can make your cases on the ride to Makedon’s camp.” 

“What of the ambassador, Exalted?” One of the scouts asked. 

Damen scowled at Laurent, who was impudent enough to meet his glare with a glare of his own. “Since he obviously cannot be trusted to stay in his own tent, he can stay in mine instead. Bring him something to sleep on, and triple the guard.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fucking shit


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiatus over. Chapter 4 coming in August. Big thanks once again to @mesdames for the insightful notes and editing.

Damen did not actually manage much more sleep, which was not surprising given that there were maybe two hours left before they moved out. He spent most of the time with his eyes closed, ears attuned to every sound and movement from the tent corner where Laurent lay. Try as he might, he could not relax. The awareness that Laurent now slept a few feet away consumed him. Why did Damen order him to sleep here of all places? 

Deep down he knew the answer to that question. He knew that despite all of the trouble that followed Laurent like a second shadow, he found Laurent witty, eloquent and dangerously alluring. Damen also knew that all of the things that made Laurent attractive also made being alone with him risky, which was why he needed to keep his distance. But it was too late to go back on his order now.

The moment Damen officially rose from his bed, Nikandros was at his side, making the case for why Laurent should be in irons instead of eating breakfast around the fire, or saddling his horse, or riding with their company. Laurent, to his credit, remained silent on the matter. Perhaps Laurent had figured out that Damen would much rather keep him close and hear his counsel than lock him away somewhere. At least when he was near, Damen could guess at what he was thinking.

Laurent’s passivity only infuriated Nikandros more. As much as Damen understood Nikandros’s position, he was beyond relieved when he spotted Makedon’s flags on the horizon. 

While their company set up camp, Damen, Nikandros and Laurent met with Makedon in his command tent. Before they entered, Damen cautioned Laurent, “Makedon has been protecting our border with Vere for longer than you’ve been alive. He won’t be nearly as tolerant as I am.” 

Laurent had the cheek to look offended. “I shall be the pinnacle of politeness, Exalted.”

As they entered the tent, Damen wondered if Laurent was always so coy or if it was just when he was scheming. 

Makedon was as grizzled and thundering as ever. His sun-worn face twisted into a scowl when he saw Laurent. “You brought a Veretian with you?”

Nikandros gave Damen a long-suffering look before replying, “This is the Veretian Ambassador, Laurent, son of Aleron.”

Makedon’s scowl narrowed. “I thought the Ambassador was that mealy-mouthed fool Guion.” 

“He is here by my authority, General,” Damen asserted as he took his place at the head of Makedon’s map-laden table. “There have been some developments that we should discuss.” As succinctly as he could, Damen explained the circumstances under which Laurent had arrived and the suspicions he had raised about the validity of the Veretian flags that flew from Marlas. 

“I am curious,” Laurent said as soon as Damen was finished, “how  _ Vere, _ ” said with cynical emphasis, “managed to take Marlas in the first place. The fort is nearly impregnable, isn’t it?” He directed this question to Nikandros. “If there had been a siege, or really any fight at all, there should have been news of that before news that the fort was lost.” He very pointedly avoided noticing Damen’s annoyed glare. 

Nikandros was taken aback by the question. In all of their discussions, he and Damen had covered all of the ways they could retake Marlas, but not how it had been taken in the first place. “What are you implying?” 

Laurent’s voice was sweetly innocent. “I simply find it hard to believe that a force large enough to capture a fort in a single day could have slipped across the border unnoticed by the celebrated General Makedon.” 

Damen could see that Laurent’s attempts at flattery were having the opposite of their intended effect. Makedon leaned across the table, his voice becoming a growl. “I don’t like your tone, boy.”

“I mean no insult,” Laurent insisted. “Quite the opposite, in fact. You are, from what I have heard, an incredibly competent and dedicated General. I don’t believe that several battalions of Veretians could have gotten past you. In which case, we must consider other possibilities.” 

Damen stepped in before anyone else could say more. “As inappropriate as it is for the Ambassador to comment on the internal affairs of Akielos,” he shot another glare at Laurent, who showed no sign of remorse, “he does have a point. Did you see anything out of the ordinary lately, besides the banners flying at Marlas?” 

Makedon pointed to the map spread out on the table between them. “No strange activity to the North, but our scouts to the East have gone silent. A small force could have cut them down, and come at Marlas from the mountains. The Veretians are cozy enough with Patras.” 

Damen could  _ feel _ the anxiety radiating off of Laurent as he said, “What of the villages between there and here?” 

“What of them?” Makedon asked. 

Nikandros grumbled. “We passed through an abandoned village yesterday. Most likely fleeing the possibility of conflict.” 

“Yes,” Makedon said, “we saw a few villages like that on the march here. It’s not all that peculiar -- I’ve seen abandoned towns before. Except…” 

Damen felt his pulse tick up. “Except?”

“The first one we saw… I don’t know how they got word of the invasion so quickly. I’ve never seen a town cleared out so completely without bloodshed. Usually there’s two or three stubborn old patriarchs that refuse to leave, even if everyone else does.” 

Nikandros shook his head. “I’m not sure what this has to do with the fort. Civilians missing or not, there is an invading force -- Vere or Kastor or Vaskian mercenaries, it doesn’t matter. We still need to win back Marlas.”

Something they could all agree on. After much deliberation, it was decided that they would start by sending an envoy to the fort, demanding either their surrender or a battle to take place the following morning. They expected they would get neither and began to plan their siege. 

Laurent grew silent as they continued their plans. He had said his piece, and now seemed content to mull things over while Damen, Nikandros and Makedon confirmed their plans of attack. Even though Laurent had withdrawn from the discussion, Damen found himself unable to ignore him. He wanted to know what Laurent thought of their plans, but could not ask for fear of insulting Makedon and Nikandros. A few times he saw Laurent rub his wrist, or adjust his shoulders oddly. He had not yet seen any sign of marks or bruises from Laurent’s capture the previous night, but he suspected that was because Laurent would not show weakness if he could avoid it. 

The envoy returned some hours later, with a message. The Veretian army would meet them on the field the next morning. 

Damen spent the evening preparing his equipment. He checked his sword edge, his armor and buckles, and reviewed the plan of attack. All the while he was aware of Laurent’s bright blue eyes scrutinizing him. It was his fault for putting Laurent under his personal watch, He still wasn’t entirely sure why he had done it -- it would be much easier to chain him up in the back of a wagon until the battle was over. But the Vaskian coin still weighed on his mind, as did the gingerness of Laurent’s movements that morning, and the way he had carried himself all day. He must have been exhausted, maybe even more so than Damen was, but he did not look it. Somehow, Damen felt that all of those things were his fault. Taking personal responsibility for Laurent would prevent it from happening again. 

“What do you make of Makedon’s report?” Damen said, unable to stand the silence in the tent any longer. They had had a comfortable rapport in Vere all those months ago. Perhaps in the privacy of his tent he could re-capture that ease.

If Laurent was surprised by the question, his implacable façade did not show it. “You mean the one about the empty towns?” 

“I do.” Damen slowed the stroke of his polishing rag. “If your Uncle is the reason for it, what do you think his purpose is?”

Laurent rose from his cot, crossed the room and instead seated himself on a chair. He crossed his long, elegant legs and fixed Damen with an intense stare. Despite himself, Damen’s interest was piqued. 

Laurent said, “Supposing Straton betrayed you and took Kastor’s side, how many men would he have? To add to the hundred-odd that Makedon believes could have gotten past his scouts?” 

“Enough to man the fort, but not much more. Most of his forces are in the field, or watching the border. Another hundred or so. Possibly less if he openly betrayed Us.”

“Do you think it’s likely he has?” 

It was a question Damen had been asking himself for a long time. “He was never a fan of mine -- he said I was too soft on Vere.” He caught Laurent’s bemused look and hurried ahead. “I think the most likely explanation is that he turned or abandoned his post.”

Laurent unconsciously rubbed his wrist. “So, two-hundred soldiers -- let’s call it two-fifty for safety. Enough to outlast a siege.”

Damen did his best to drag his eyes away from the tight laces that concealed Laurent’s skin. “If they have the supplies. The war has been hard on our farms -- the stocks could be wearing thin.”

“Even so, if they only have two-hundred and fifty men, why did they agree to face us in open combat? Marlas is a stronghold. They could outlast us.” 

“Maybe we’re underestimating. If this is planned, who knows how long they’ve been planning it. I’ll give you that it’s more Akielon than Veretian, to accept a challenge when a fight could be avoided.” 

Laurent smirked. “Akielons are known for their foolhardiness. But even you must admit it seems like a strange strategy. Why waste such limited man power on a battle? It’s almost as if they don’t care if their soldiers die, as long as they can whittle down your numbers.” 

Something clicked in Damen’s head. The vision was so clear to him that he sat up straight, as though jabbed in the back. “The villagers. You don’t think-” 

Laurent’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. “My uncle would. Pit the King against his own people, weaken his forces and his morale.” 

Had Laurent been guiding him towards this realization? “Break the treaty, force Vere to take sides against me, or risk looking complicit.” 

“I told you he’s dangerous.” If Laurent was pleased that Damen had caught on, he didn’t show it. The only emotion Damen could read on him was worry. 

“We can’t fight them.” 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. But it’s too late to back off now. Your men want a fight - they wouldn’t stand for it.” 

Damen rose from his seat, mind whirling. “No. No, there might be another way.” 

Laurent watched him as he began to pace. “Damianos… are you scheming?” 

Instead of answering, Damen strode to the tent’s entrance. To the guard stationed outside he said, “Bring me Commander Nikandros and General Makedon.” 

They were hesitant, but for once Laurent let Damen do the talking. As long as Damen presented the plan as one of his own design -- which, for the most part, it was -- they could not openly refute him. 

Plans drawn and orders issued, he dismissed them both. However, Nikandros lingered. 

“Exalted, may I have a word? In private?” He glanced at Laurent who was within earshot but pretended he was not. 

Damen was a little surprised by the request. “Of course.”

Nikandros led them out of the tent and away from the camp. Away from the firelight and the prying eyes and ears. Only once they could no longer hear the bustle of the encamped soldiers did he stop. 

“Damianos,” Nikandros began, a rare start. He was serious. “I am concerned that the Veretian Ambassador has a hold on you.” 

“You needn’t be,” Damen said. “My mind is my own.” 

“That’s exactly my point,” Nikandros snapped. “You can’t see what he’s doing to you. He’s slithered past your defenses.” 

“He’s  _ earned _ my trust,” Damen corrected. “He saved both of our lives in Vere. He’s a bit paranoid I’ll admit, but his counsel shouldn’t be dismissed offhand.” 

“And what of my counsel?” There was a raw edge to Nikandros’s voice that Damen had not heard there before. “Have I not earned that same confidence ten times over? Ever since we met I’ve warned you about Kastor, and you didn’t listen. And now again you refuse to hear a word against this  _ boy _ who pranced into the middle of  _ our _ war. You take him into your confidence, and now your tent-” 

“What are you implying?” Damen’s face felt hot. He knew there was some truth to what Nikdanros was saying, but that only made him more angry. 

“It’s not just me. The men have noticed it too.” 

“Noticed what?” 

Nikandros threw open his arms. “That you’re thinking with your cock! I know he’s your type, but-” 

“But I should be cautious? You think I don’t know that, Nikandros? After everything we’ve been through, you still think I would jeopardize my kingdom for a pretty face? A quick fuck?” He knew he said it too loud. 

“Have you?” Nikandros came back in kind. 

The silence stretched between them. Damen had no answer that wasn’t venomous. He clenched his fists and kept the retorts to himself. He could not risk losing Nikandros on the eve of this fight. 

Finally, when Nikandros spoke again, his tone was flat and deferential. “It is not my business what happens in your bed.” Something about the sudden void of emotion made Damen’s stomach drop. “I overstepped. Forgive me, Exalted.” 

Nikandros turned and retreated back toward camp, leaving Damen confused. In the past they had disagreed on matters of state, and on personal choices and the wisdom of certain lovers, but this was different. It felt more personal somehow. Damen tried to reason as he trudged alone back towards the campfires, perhaps it was because he had never flirted with a foreign dignitary before. Granted, most ambassadors were not as comely as Laurent, but he could not shake the strange feeling of guilt as he pushed back the tent flap. 

Laurent was still awake, sitting in front of the brazier in the center of the tent. He had unbraided his hair, which fell in loose golden strands across his shoulders, almost orange in the light of the fire. He had a hand on one shoulder as he rolled it experimentally. 

“Are you hurt?” Damen asked the question that had been nagging at him all day. 

“What?” Laurent’s voice had the dreamy quality of a man snatched from deep thought as he turned his attention to Damen. 

“Last night, were you-- did my men hurt you?” 

Laurent frowned, and Damen realized he had never seen Laurent confused before. He had seen him puzzled, surprised, frustrated, and contemplative, but genuine confusion was new. It made him seem younger somehow. Damen reminded himself that Laurent  _ was _ young. He had only come of age last year. 

“No more than I deserved, I’m sure,” Laurent said, trying to lighten the moment. “To them I’m still the enemy, after all.” 

Damen, unconvinced, gestured to Laurent’s wrist. “May I see?” 

Laurent narrowed his eyes. “Why?” 

That was also the question Damen asked himself. Why did he care if this arrogant princeling had a few new bruises? “You are still a diplomat, and guest of my house,” Damen said. “Any injury to you is an injury to my reputation and hospitality.” 

“I’m not injured,” Laurent said. 

Damen approached until he stood at Laurent’s side. “It’s a crime to lie to the King, you know.” 

Laurent looked at his sideways from his seat, a half-smile on his lips. “As you just pointed out, I am a foreign dignitary and therefore immune to your laws.” He took a deep breath, almost a sigh, and began unlacing his sleeve. “But if it will put your mind at ease.”

Memories flooded back to Damen as he watched Laurent’s deft fingers pull the threads loose. He remembered that night in Vere. All of Laurent’s twisting riddles and incomprehensible actions. The wild chase through dark corridors, the lengths Laurent had gone to protect his brother, the feeling of Laurent’s lips against his. But most of all he remembered the way he had felt in his gut that despite everything Laurent was trustworthy. He felt that same instinct now, as much as he tried to deny it with logic and suspicion. He had not trusted his instincts since Kastor had poisoned their father. His pulse pounded so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t hear himself when he asked, “Why are you trying so hard to help me?” 

Laurent’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. Damen could swear he saw a faint pink rise in his cheeks. “The same reason you care so much about this.” He folded back the cuff of his sleeve. As Damen had suspected, the skin there was bruised an ugly purple, where the ropes had cut into him. 

Damen’s throat felt dry. He knew, or at least suspected, what Laurent meant. There had been chemistry in Vere, but Damen had not expected it to linger after such a lapse. Surely Laurent had his pick of suitors. The idea of Laurent holding affection for him still was overwhelming. 

His own feelings for Laurent had been pushed aside and down by everything that had passed since that night. After Laurent’s arrival in Ios, they had erupted with the intensity of a long-dormant volcano. 

Laurent re-covered the bruise and fumbled to re-lace up the sleeve. His ears were most certainly redder than usual. 

“May I?” Damen asked, holding out a hand. Laurent met his gaze and, after a hesitation, allowed Damen to tie the laces for him. 

Even after that was done, Laurent did not retract his hand. Instead he said, “You ought to rest. Tomorrow will be taxing.” 

Despite himself, Damen breathed a laugh. ”I know.” And then, maybe because of his conversation with Nikandros, because he was feeling reckless, because he knew that he was gambling with his life in the morning, he knelt beside Laurent, closing the little distance left between them. He hesitated then, feeling the way Laurent tensed, seeing the hard muscle of his jaw clench. “I’m sorry that you’ve been treated so basely. This isn’t how I would have chosen for you to see Akielos.” 

Laurent’s smile was a little strained. “I’m used to it.” He placed his other hand over top of Damen’s, leaning in a little further. “Maybe in another life…” 

Damen leaned forward, pressing his lips to Laurent’s. It was brief, almost chaste, if not for the way it changed the rhythm of his heart. Laurent ducked his face, looking away, but the curl of his lips betrayed him. He was smiling. . 

“There’s still time in this life,” Damen said. 

Laurent stood abruptly, still not looking at him. “Perhaps. Let’s get through tomorrow first. I’ve lost too much at Marlas already.” He marched stiffly across the tent and laid down on his cot. 

Damen understood, as much as he wished they could linger in that moment just a bit longer. His lips still tingled with the thought of Laurent when he laid down to sleep. 

Armed and armored, Damen led his company to the fields outside Marlas. As promised, the invading force had arrayed their own army to meet them. Damen did his best to settle his nerves as he gazed at the men dressed in Veretian armor. Had he been deceived? 

He called the order to halt, then he and his bannerman rode out alone to the space between the companies. As was the custom, there would be one last chance to parlay, or offer terms.

They stopped halfway across the distance and waited, companies staring each other down, but the Veretians did not offer their own envoy. That in itself was suspicious enough, and Damen set his jaw in determination. 

He stood in his stirrups and shouted across the field, “We will not fight Our own citizens. If you do not wish to fight, lay down your arms and you will not be hurt. As your King, We promise you are under Our protection.” Then he repeated the message in Veretian. Then again in Vaskian. 

He waited just a moment. He could already see the unrest in the army before them, the uncertainty and the hesitancy. He wheeled his horse around, raised his sword in the air, and gave the signal to charge. The trumpets sounded behind him, spreading the order through the ranks and echoing across the fields. 

Makedon’s riders broke from the main force, flanking the enemy and seeking out those in command uniforms. Damen rode forward and once again called out, in Veretian first then Akielon, “ _ Throw down your weapons and you will not be harmed. _ ” 

And they did, one at a time, then as groups. Damen slowed the charge, giving the men time to stand aside and make a path for the horses. A handful of men lashed out at them, and they were summarily cut down. He pressed further in, seeking out the men who yelled at their compatriots, the ones who still brandished weapons. Deeper into the fray there were more of them, but mercenaries knew a losing battle when they saw one, and when given the choice would always pick their own lives over coin. 

It was the shortest and most bloodless battle any of them had ever witnessed. The casualties totaled twenty Vaskain mercenaries, and five injuries. The Akielons did not lose a single man, and as they rounded up the forces, it was easy to see why. Most of the men in armor did not know how to wear it, or how to wield the weapons they had been given. They were farmers and trappers, not warriors. 

It took a couple of hours to organize the surrendered army into mercenaries and citizens. When things were finally beginning to settle Nikandros approached him. 

“Exalted,” he said, “some of the captured Delphans wish to speak with you.” 

Damen followed him to a knot of very anxious men, who muttered to each other in Veretian. No surprise, then, it had taken this long for the news to reach him. When they saw him, they knelt and one said in broken Akielon: “Exalted, please, your help.” 

Damen spoke in Veretian, “ _ What is wrong?”  _

The men appeared relieved, but allowed their spokesperson to reply. “ _ Our families are still held at Marlas. If we refused to fight, they said that they would be slaughtered. _ ” 

The man, named Jaques, explained how the mercenaries had taken them from their homes. How they had been conscripted to fight, and the peril that still faced their loved ones. 

Damen and Laurent had suspected that would be the case. “ _ We know,”  _ he said.  _ “They are safe _ .” 

“Rider!” The call went up. Damen craned his neck and, as expected, spotted Laurent, his golden head bare, galloping into view.

Earlier that morning, Laurent, Jord and Orlant had joined a small group of Akielons, led by Pallas, to take the fort while the armies met. If Laurent was here, then their ploy had been successful. 

Over the back of Laurent’s horse was a young man, bound and bloodied. Damen and Nikandros moved as one to intercept him. 

As they drew closer, Damen saw that Laurent sported the makings of an impressive black eye, and a split lip. His eyes moved to the captive on the back of his horse, an immediate hostility boiling up in him. 

“What is this?” Nikandros demanded as Laurent reined in his horse. “Is the fort secure?” 

“It is,”Laurent said. His usual cool demeanor seemed a little shaken. “This is information.” He dismounted and dragged his captive down after him. 

With a pang, Damen recognized him as Aimeric, a son of the previous ambassador. They had met a few times, very briefly, and this boy had played a role at the Masquerade, drugging Damen and attempting to seduce him so he could be framed for an assassination attempt. How did everything seem to tie back to that night? 

Aimeric jerked against his bindings as though he might bolt, but Laurent’s grip on his arm was ironfast. 

Laurent explained, “I spotted him fleeing Marlas and chased him down. He’s been accomplice to my uncle before.” There was an odd sadness to his face as he spoke -- or a softness maybe? He did not seem to hold the same disgust for Aimeric that he held for other men who worked for his uncle. This attitude was more akin to pity. 

Aimeric, for his part, did not look scared. He stuck his jaw out in a defiant pout. “You’re too late,” he said. 

“What do you mean?” Damen asked, more gingerly than he might have normally. He was following Laurent’s approach to this young man. 

“He’s already won,” said Aimeric. 

Damen’s stomach dropped a few inches. He met Laurent’s eyes, which were saying  _ I told you so _ . 

Laurent said, “Where is he?” 

Aimeric laughed, sounding just a little hysterical. He was barely twenty and probably frightened, putting on a brave face. 

Damen grabbed him by the scruff of his clothing. “Where is the rest of the army?” 

Aimeric looked triumphant as he said, “Ios.”

Ios. Of course they went to Ios. Laurent had been saying this whole time that the attack on Marlas was a trap -- a ruse to draw him out. The best use of that ruse would be to take the capitol. If Damen’s army had attacked and killed the conscripted Delphan citizens, how easily Kastor would have twisted that against him. What kind of King leaves his capitol under-defended to slaughter peasants and farmers on a whim?

Within the hour, they were back on the road. Damen gave command of Marlas to Makedon, as a testament to his loyalty and because he needed the matter resolved quickly. Nikandros knew Makedon well, and while he was hotheaded in person, he would not start unnecessary wars. 

They needed to move fast. They wouldn’t be able to plod back to Ios at the same pace they had left. Ios needed herKing back, assuming it had not fallen already. So they would travel lighter, with fewer men, across the countryside when it was more efficient than roads. 

Only those with horses could come, which reduced their ranks from hundreds to a couple dozen. Among them were Nikandros, of course, and Laurent and his men. 

They would bring only the essentials -- there was no time for carts full of supplies. Simple tents, something to sleep on, and whatever rations their horses could carry. It would have to be enough. 

Even with all of that, it would be a journey of five or six days. A round week if they wanted all of the horses to survive intact. As they took off across the fields, away from the still-shaken villagers and the newly reconquered Marlas, Damen could feel the urgency pounding through him. Every heartbeat, every hoofbeat pulsed with an anxious mantra:  _ Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry. _

No one spoke over the course of their journey that day. Damen saw his grimness and his worry reflected in the faces around him. 

After the third day of riding, the horses could not go on without proper rest. They stopped early, despite the urge to move that they all felt. It was quicker to take a longer rest here than to lose their steeds to exhaustion. 

Even with the impending doom hanging over him, Damen couldn’t keep his eyes off the red-purple bruise as it blossomed day by day across Laurent’s face, now ripening to yellow as the healing began.

Because they had time that evening, and because Damen felt like he might burst if he sat still for too long, he approached Laurent after dinner. 

“Do you want to spar?” He asked without preamble. 

Laurent looked at him rather incredulously. “I hardly think I would be a worthy opponent.” He eyed Damen’s physique. 

“That’s what concerns me,” Damen admitted. “If you’re to fight alongside us at Ios, I want to know what you’re capable of. If you can’t hold your own against Kastor and his men, you’ll get worse than a black eye.” 

Laurent’s expression cooled. “I was too kind to Aimeric and he took a cheap shot. With a rock. I’m perfectly capable of holding my own.” 

“Then assuage my fears.” 

He pursed his lips, considering the offer. Damen wondered if he could tell that, apart from truly wishing to assess his combat skill, Damen wanted a chance to talk to him. They had not had a moment alone since his tent the night before Marlas. 

“Very well,” Laurent said at last. 

They left the firelight, taking torches with them and finding a sheltered place to practice out of earshot of the camp. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say,” Damen said as they cleared the ground of debris. 

“Funny, so do I.” 

Damen pressed ahead before he lost his nerve. “I wanted to apologize for your inhospitable reception in Ios, and the way you’ve been treated since. I should have listened to you.” 

“Most people should listen to me, but they rarely do.” Laurent kicked aside a rock, and his tone shifted from wry to something more sincere. “You did the best you could with the information you had. Were our roles reversed, I may have done the same.” 

“Is that what you wanted to say?” 

”No. I wanted to apologize for my reaction in your tent. After you- we-” He avoided Damen’s curious look. He seemed shy and uncertain, which Damen found even stranger. Had he really never dabbled in romance before? “I like spending time with you, Damianos. “

“As do I,” Damen jumped on the sentiment, clinging to it. There was hope still. 

Laurent finally met his gaze. “But we don’t know each other. Not really.” 

“I know you well enough,” Damen said. “I know that you’re too smart for your own good, and you’re brave, and obstinate.” 

Laurent shook his head. “You know the parts of me I choose to show you. I don’t think you would like what lies beneath.”

Damen smiled as he presented Laurent with a blunted sword, and took a fighting stance. “There’s only one way to find out. Let’s start by showing me your skill with a blade.” 

Laurent hefted the blade, finding his own stance. “Very well.” 

They began circling each other, gauging defenses, studying form. Damen made the first move, a few exploratory strikes which Laurent easily evaded. His step was quick and light asa cat. So, Laurent had some training in swordsmanship at least. His stance was distinctly Veretian and reminded Damen of Auguste that day in Marlas years ago, matching each other blow for blow until they collapsed from exhaustion. He wondered if Laurent could live up to his brother’s prowess, despite the difference in size. He decided not to underestimate his capabilities, and began formulating a counter-strategy. He began his onslaught in earnest. 

Laurent was not an easy target to hit. Instead of trading blows, he kept moving, making Damen work twice as hard to strike at him. Damen slowed, recognizing that brute force would not work, and stepped back. They both took a moment to reassess. He met Laurent’s eyes and smiled, and Laurent smirked back. He was pleased with himself, the smug bastard. 

“Your feet are almost as nimble as your tongue,” Damen teased. “But you won’t defeat anyone dancing around like that.” 

As a reply, Laurent shifted stance suddenly and Damen reflexively brought his sword up just in time to parry the blow. It was a calculated move intended to capitalize on Damen’s momentary shift in focus. Laurent didn’t let up, and used Damen’s surprise to push him back several steps. Damen steadied though and struck back. The moment he did, Laurent parried and withdrew, putting distance between them once more. 

_ Not this time,  _ Damen thought as he followed Laurent’s lead. He struck again, but Laurent was ready for him. Their blades sang as they slid past each other. For a momentDamen felt Laurent’s breath against his face, then they separated once more. 

Damen was impressed, but chided himself for being surprised. Of course Laurent could hold his own against a larger, stronger opponent. The fight could have ended there, Damen had learned what he wanted to know. Laurent was no milksop so clearly he could handle himself. But Damen was curious and enjoying himself, the easy give and take of this exchange. There was a dangerous attractiveness to this side of Laurent. He clearly intended to best Damen and that intent focus... he wanted to see just how far Laurent would go.

Metal met metal again and again. Damen thought of the way that Kastor fought -- the heavy, violent blow after blow he would deliver, even when Damen was younger and still new to the sword. If Kastor met Laurent in the field, he would show no mercy so neither could Damen. 

As Damen learned Laurent’s evasions, he was able to force Laurent to defend himself with his blade as well. Laurent in turn began jabbing at Damen’s weak points (not that there were many). He used his agility to his advantage and, when Damen continued to close in, his fighting grew dirty. He wasn’t afraid to throw rocks or dodge behind trees. If Damen’s blade was sharper he thought it would have gotten stuck in the bark. 

He must have been getting frustrated. They were both growing tired, but they were both too stubborn to give up. Damen saw his opening when Laurent stumbled, just for a second. It was all Damen needed to force him back. Laurent retreated until his back came up against a tree, and Damen knocked his sword from his hand. 

The clearing fell silent, only the sound of their breathing left. His blunted sword tip rested on Laurent’s chest just over his heart. The surging adrenaline of a fight well fought pounded through him. His face came close to Laurent’s, and he could smell the heady musk of exercise on them both. It was intoxicating. “You’re dead.” 

“No,” Laurent scowled up at him. Damen was taken aback by the look -- it was not one he expected to see, even on a losing opponent. There was something unspeakably dark behind his eyes. Then he felt the point of a dagger at his ribs. “We are both dead.” 

The spell between them broke. Damen took a few steps back, releasing him from the pin. The stumble had been a feint, luring Damen in. “A trick like this is still going to get you killed. By the time they reach your dagger, the sword is halfway through your heart.” ” Damen hadn’t even realized that Laurent had a dagger with him. Had he pushed Laurent too hard? 

“If the opponent is my uncle, it’s a fair trade” Laurent brushed a stray strand of hair back. His plait had come loose in the fight. 

Damen’s brain churned with the idea. He knew that Laurent could be stubborn -- even reckless when his goal was in sight, but… “If you approach a fight willing to die, you will most likely die.” 

“Then I die. As long as he dies too.”

Laurent regretted the words almost as soon as he said them. They were true, but he had never admitted as much to anyone. Let alone the man who would determine if he would be allowed the chance to face his uncle. He saw the horror in Damen’s eyes. He swallowed the shame he should feel -- the disappointment that Damen could not understand him. 

“I told you, you wouldn’t like it.” He pushed himself off the tree and sheathed the sword. “Are you satisfied that I can fight?” 

Damianos nodded. He must still be at a loss for words. Perhaps Akielons had a different understanding of revenge. Finally Damen managed, “You fight well. Better than most.” 

Laurent wanted to appreciate the compliment, but his mind was still caught in a dark vortex. Memories and fantasies he would prefer to forget wound their way to the surface. He couldn't think like this. “Thank you,” he knew he sounded stiff and insincere. “We should go back to camp before anyone wonders where we are.” 

Damen made a noise that was probably an agreement. Laurent fetched the torch and started back toward his tent. 

As they neared the torchlight, a few of the soldiers hailed their king. Damen hesitated, but Laurent was glad for the opportunity. He gave Damen a small nod and said, “I’ll return to the tent.” 

“Right,” Damen said. “I’ll be there soon.” 

When Laurent reached the tent, however, he found Nikandros waiting outside, and no other guards around. 

“Where did you and Damianos go off to?” Nikandros demanded. Laurent recognized how it probably looked -- they had returned from a foray into the forest sweaty and disheveled. In Vere there wouldn’t have even been a question, everyone would have just assumed they were returning from a romantic tryst. 

“Sparring,” Laurent replied, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, as though it was an incident of little note to him. “The King wished to assess my combat skills.” He watched the man’s eyes narrow in suspicion, looking him up and down. “Ask the King if you don’t believe me.” 

At that, Nikandros’s expression turned chastened. He hid the emotion quickly, but it caught Laurent’s attention. Had something happened between Damianos and his loyal Commander? 

Nikandros said, “I came to talk to you, not him.” 

“Then talk.” Laurent was intrigued now, but knew he would need to step carefully. Nikandros was not an easy man to win over. 

Nikandros sighed. Unlike Damen, he did not externalize his emotions with constant movement. He was still as stone, gathering his thoughts. “Damen is in a precarious position right now.” Laurent noted the use of Damen’s nickname. 

“I’ve heard. I understand the political implications of my involvement.” 

“I don’t mean politically. He lost his father to his brother -- one of the people he trusted most in this world. And now he’s waging war against him.” He seemed to struggle to say what he meant, but Laurent understood, as surprising as it was. He had never taken Nikandros for a sentimental person. In the war room he seemed pragmatic and cynical, which were important traits in an advisor to be sure, but this concern for Damianos ran deeper than loyalty. 

“What are you trying to say?” Laurent asked. 

Nikandros straightened, making himself somehow taller and broader. “King Damianos trusts you. I acknowledge that your help was invaluable at Marlas and I appreciate what you’ve done for us, but…” Again that pause. It was almost like Laurent could see him struggling to balance his role as Commander and friend. “Don’t give him false hope. He’s not a pawn for your Veretian mind games. I will not see him hurt again.” 

And with that, the pieces clicked into place. Laurent understood exactly where Nikandros was coming from. He understood the hostility he felt for Laurent and the fierce protectiveness he held for Damen. Nikandros was in love with his king. 

Laurent had no experience in being the object of jealousy but he knew a sick and twisted version of what it was like to be in Nikandros’s place. He knew how little anything he might say would matter. That any promise of good intentions or courteous bowing out would only salt the wound further. Still, he had to say something. 

“I understand. I have no intention of compromising your King. I came to Akielos to bring my uncle to justice and once I have done so, I will return to Vere.” He knew it wasn’t much and that, given reason, Nikandros would not hesitate to cut him down for Damen’s honor. They both knew Damen would never allow him the satisfaction. 

Nikandros glowered at him, but there was not much else he could do. Finally he unfolded his arms. “Good.” The threat in his voice was almost palpable, as was the defeat. He turned and left. 

Laurent wished then, harder than he ever had, that emotions were as easily manipulated as men. Then perhaps all of them could come out of this war unscathed.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have suggestions for naming this series, please drop it in the comments. I'm bad at names. 
> 
> On that note, check out the song that's been playing on repeat in my head and gave me the title for this fic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_V7-WWOJilA


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